


Yellow Blood

by draculard



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan (2003), Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: But his age isn't specified, Dominant Peter Pan, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Micropenis, Personally I see Peter Pan as an adult or older teen in this, Sub Captain Hook, Virgin Hook, Watersports, Wetting, hence the underage tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 21:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Cornered in a dark cave, with that dreadful boy bound to discover him any minute, Hook reveals his true nature.





	Yellow Blood

**Author's Note:**

> ...sowwy...

Water drips from the darkness at the top of the cave, splattering like ice against Hook’s skull. His back is pressed up against a boulder; it digs into his spine and he tightens his cold, numb hand around his sword, keeping it aimed in front of him should anything come for him out of the dark.

His hand shakes. He can hardly feel a thing. Water seeps through his boots and it’s so cold he feels as though his feet have been chopped off and buried deep underground, in the dead of winter.

The boy is waiting for him, somewhere in the darkness. His laughter echoes off the angles of the walls. Hook has nowhere to go, no way out.

His legs feel loose, weak. He shudders and falls to his knees in a shallow pool. The hair framing his face is damp and dark and he resists the urge to hide behind it, to drop his sword and curl up into a ball, to never think of Pan or the crocodile again. The mass of scars on his left wrist throbs and without thinking he buries it in the water, allowing the cold to pierce his skin and numb his nerves.

Hook’s shaking grows worse. It takes over his entire body. And then, deep in the recesses of the cave, he hears the tap of Pan’s wooden sword against stone. Hook’s breath stops; his bladder lets go, and he makes helpless water down his leg. For a moment his brain is frozen and all he can feel is the warmth of urine running down his thighs.

Then he hears the tap of Pan’s wooden sword gliding closer and closer, and as his urine cools, a flush of humiliation takes over Hook’s face. His shaking refuses to subside, and he holds his sword up and away from him, watching the blade tremble. What good will it do him? How many years has he survived on this island without ever harming a hair on Pan’s head?

Hook’s face works and he blinks back tears, struggling to see in the dark. His breath comes out of him in harsh gasps, horribly loud in the silence of the cave.

And then he sees him. Pan, floating inches above the ground, his teeth shining in the night. Even like this, in the dark of a dripping cave, Pan is beautiful. Wild, golden hair; sun-kissed skin and smiling eyes; slender as a pin. He looks younger than he really is — of course, they all do here, but Pan especially.

He comes to a stop before Hook and floats back down to the ground, his bare feet disappearing beneath icy water. If he feels the cold, he doesn’t show it. Hook has heard whispers that wherever Pan goes, summer follows — that he is never cold.

“Aw, Hook,” the boy says as he steps forward, his feet splashing in the water. He puts his hands on Hook’s shoulders, curling his fingers in the fabric of Hook’s coat. “You pissed yourself.”

Hook swallows hard. He stares down, away from the Pan’s eyes. The boy’s bare skin is visible through the garment of loose, autumn leaves and cobwebs he wears — gaps in the material do little for his modesty. He can see the outline of Pan’s cock, half-hard, and it makes his mouth go dry.

Pan catches him staring and puts a hand under Hook’s chin, tilting it upward. With his other hand, he knocks Hook’s shaking sword to the ground; it disappears beneath the water.

“You’re shivering,” Pan says with a smile. “Are you afraid?”

Hook says nothing. His teeth are clenched too tightly for any speech to get past. Pan leans closer to him, eyes darting over Hook’s face, searching for clues.

“Is it the crocodile?” Pan whispers. “Is it nearby?”

He makes a clicking noise deep in his throat, teasing Hook, and despite himself, Hook flinches. He squeezes his eyes shut and goes still, Pan’s grip on his chin tightening. For a moment, all Hook can hear is his own breathing and the trickling of water in the cave; then he feels Pan’s fingers brushing gently against his forehead, pushing damp curls out of his eyes.

“So pretty,” Pan murmurs. He grabs Hook’s left hand and twists it, pinning it slowly against the rock. Hook could almost call the gesture gentle, if it weren’t for the tight grip and insistent, crushing pain in his wrist as Pan grinds his bones together. Pan steps closer, and when Hook looks down, he sees that the boy is fully erect, his cock flushed a pale pink color and pushing straight through the leaves.

Pan slots his hips against Hook’s, pressing him back painfully against the boulder. The edges of it dig into Hook’s spine, and Pan’s erection pokes at him through his own urine-soaked clothes. Hook’s heart thumps in his chest, going far too fast as anxiety conquers his brain. He bucks wildly, trying to get away, but his limbs are weak and heavy and Pan holds him tightly, firmly, against the rocks.

“Pan,” Hook gasps. He realizes he’s pleading before he makes a conscious decision to do so, and then he bites his lip hard, silenced by a rush of shame.

“Call me ‘boy,’” Pan says with a smile. He shoves one bare foot between Hook’s legs and kicks them apart. “I like it when you call me ‘boy.’”

Hook cannot speak. Pan’s nimble fingers have found his belt buckle and Hook does nothing to stop him. The boy yanks the belt out of the loops on Hook’s trousers, forcing Hook’s hips to jerk hard against his own, and then drops it in the water. It disappears, just like Hook’s sword. He feels it snake around his ankles for just a moment before the current tears it away.

Pan cups Hook through his wet trousers and Hook goes still, breath catching in his throat. There’s a moment where he can hope that Pan will notice nothing amiss, that he will leave Hook alone and never discover his secret — but then Pan’s mouth twists into a quizzical smile and he tilts his head, and Hook knows he’s been discovered.

“You’re awfully small,” Pan says. He stares at Hook, waiting for an answer, an explanation. When nothing comes, Pan gives a delicate shrug and picks apart the laces on Hook’s breeches. Hook closes his eyes; his chest feels painfully cold. Ice radiates out from his heart, searing down his arms and legs and up into his head. He shakes uncontrollably, like a frightened animal.

With deft hands, Pan pulls down Hook’s trousers, exposing him for all the world to see. Nestled in the dark curls between his leg is a stunted, malformed cock, tinier than his thumb. It looks like a button receding into Hook’s foreskin, barely visible at all. Pan’s eyes widen with delight at the sight of it and he lets go of Hook entirely to grab a hold of his own penis and position it next to Hook’s, comparing the length. He brushes the pads of his fingers over the smooth little nub, seemingly unaware of the effect he has on Hook, the electricity that emanates from his fingertips and mingles deliciously with Hook’s shame.

“Does it get bigger?” Pan asks, and his voice is all innocent wonder. He doesn’t wait for an answer; he strokes what he can, his hands gentle, to no effect. Without hesitation, Pan kneels in the icy water and presses his warm, wet tongue between Hook’s legs, covering the head of his cock entirely. Hook gasps, his back arches, and then he feels himself harden. Pan takes him into his mouth — he doesn’t go very far — enveloping him entirely.

Hook has never shown himself to anyone like this, never felt another person’s mouth on him. It chases away the coldness all around him, drowns out the trickling of water in the cave. Pan chuckles around him, the sound reverberating against Hook’s skin.

“You’re so small, it’s like sucking my thumb,” Pan says, pulling away. Fully erect, Hook’s cock is only an inch long. Pan holds his next to Hook’s and circles them both with his fingers, pressing them together firmly. Hook stares down at the two of them — Pan’s cock seems enormous next to his — and then glances back up and finds Pan’s pale eyes trained on him.

Pan’s grip tightens and he pumps the two of them awkwardly, as best he can when dealing with two vastly different lengths. Then he leans forward and his lips catch Hook’s, and they’re soft and warm, and Hook has never experienced this, either — never kissed anyone, never been close enough to try. Pan’s mouth opens and his tongue swipes at Hook’s lips, and Hook tastes something foreign, something salty and bitter and ammoniac, and his eyes widen when he realizes what it is.

It’s his own piss.

Humiliation floods Hook’s face with heat and he wants to pull away, to hide, but he can’t. He’s been completely, irrevocably captured — trapped by the feeling of Pan’s lips on his, of his mouth on Hook’s cock. Everything blends together inextricably. The shame of wetting himself from fear, of his cowardice, of his penis the size of a infant’s, outsized even by the boy. The rush of ecstasy he gets from the barest amount of contact, from a child’s kiss, from Pan’s cock pressed against his.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. Hook feels himself trembling and without thinking, he puts his hands on Pan’s chest. His fingers push through the autumn leaves, seeking Pan’s skin, his preternatural heat. He finds Pan’s nipple without trying, pinches it a little too hard, and feels Pan gasp against Hook’s mouth. A moment later, the boy’s teeth sink into Hook’s neck in painful retribution. His free hand is on Hook’s chest, ripping the buttons off his shirt, his nails raking across Hook’s collarbones and ribs.

Pan’s left hand squeezes around their cocks, painfully tight — the perfect grip. Hook’s hips buck against his will, pressing himself closer to Pan, seeking more friction.

And then, embarrassingly fast, it’s over. Hook’s whole body spasms as he comes. His stream of cum doesn’t shoot far; it covers Pan’s hand in pearlescent liquid, and Pan pulls away, still hard but looking immensely satisfied.

Hook can’t catch his breath. His chest heaves, the scratches there burning. His limbs go weak again, and he nearly falls on his face in the water, barely catching himself. Pan’s feet leave the ground and he floats back a few inches, eyes roaming critically over Hook’s body — over his wide eyes, pupils blown, his ripped shirt, his wet trousers and exposed cock.

When the boy meets Hook’s eyes again, he’s wearing a cold smirk. There’s a cruelty in his eyes Hook knows well, that he remembers from countless fights, from innumerable wounds, from the cut of a blade through his left hand.

This is his enemy, Hook remembers, not his friend. An enemy who’s now seen everything, who knows Hook’s deepest secrets and insecurities. An enemy who’s ripped his clothes and left him bleeding and frightened, unsure and completely changed.

An enemy Hook gave himself to whole.

“Pan,” Hook whispers. But water is trickling from the roof of the cave, gathering in pools around Hook’s feet, and the night is dark, and Pan is gone.

Hook is alone.


End file.
